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Let Watch Me Juggle provide you with a few tips that I’ve gleaned from dogging the massive influx of people at my local 24 Hour Fitness to give you a few pointers as to how to behave when trying to get a workout in. Now, I’m by no means an expert here, but I do know how to generally behave around people and share space, and, based on my recent experiences, it seems like some of you could use a refresher course. So, without further ado, I give you:

HOW TO ACT RIGHT; the Gym edition

Do not bring a bag of french fries into the gym and proceed to walk around and eat them. Unless you want everyone to hate you.

Quit hogging the machines by spreading your stuff everywhere. Just because you put your water bottle next to that piece of equipment across the room does not mean that it is now magically yours.

Do not sit in front of the free weights and change your shoes, have snack time or nap time or any other personal time. You’re in the way. People want to pick those up and use them.

Do not steal the yoga ball someone was using and set aside for two seconds. Furthermore, if you’re going to steal a yoga ball, actually use it. Don’t just sit on it in the corner and stare creepily at people.

Please don’t stand vaguely near a machine and then yell “I WAS USING THAT” when someone else starts actually using it. You were not using that, you were diddling around on your phone 10 feet away. You’re not a two-year-old; remember that sharing is caring.

The constant grunting is never necessary. Yes, we know those are heavy and you’re a man who’s lifting things, but…stop.

We all appreciate when you clean your sweat off of the bench. What is not productive, however, is leaving your soggy, sweaty paper towels next to the thing you just cleaned.

For the love of god, please wear swimwear and not underwear when using the pool. I know, it’s all just fabric, but sir, I don’t need to see you in your soggy Underarmour briefs when I’m trying to just live my life and do some TRX.

Learn how to count, then please use your counting skills when re-racking the weights.

I recently got into a really amusing exchange on Facebook. Let me give you an idea of how random my friends and I can be:

Good friend sends me a picture of bedazzled cement truck on Facebook, the back of which literally looks like a giant disco ball. (For some context, this friend really likes anything covered in sequins/disco balls, etc.) Eva responds…

Eva: Woah! I know what your next ride is going to be!!

Friend: ” Disco garbage truck – the most festive way to haul around all my emotional baggage”

Eva: I have my eye on a Prada purse to haul that stuff around.

Friend: “I’ve been trying to hold it in a purse but it became impractical. Seen in photo: actual size of baggage.”(sends picture of giant purse statue standing about 10 ft. tall)

*cue laughter*

This is it, folks. The dreaded emotional baggage blog. Everyone has it and no one likes to talk about it or acknowledge its existence. I was recently inspired by the lovely Anna Akana (who is so admirably candid about her life), and the humor with which she addressed her emotional baggage.

It’s some heavy stuff, dear readers. And, let’s be honest, most everyone’s emotional baggage is terrifying, and not some thing anyone wants to share. You have your run-of-the-mill abandonment issues, substance abuse, body image issues, maybe some PTSD thrown in there. Maybe your baggage, like mine, has a tape player in it that keeps saying the same thing to you over and over again. But everyone has it. Let me be clear: Everyone has it. You can dress it up in Prada all you like, maybe even pair it with your Louboutins, but it’s still there. If you say it’s not you’re a lying liar. I don’t mean to get sassy, but it’s true. And I think what makes it so hard for some of us is admitting that it’s even there. Living life will give you “emotional baggage.” If you don’t have it, you’re most likely not out there in the world living. The boss lady says that her baggage is not baggage at all. It’s served her well, in her own words. It has some dings and scratches, maybe a broken zipper, but it represents all of her life experiences that have made her who she is. You can deny that it’s there, or you can embrace it as a part of you and find power in that. Let it be, but don’t let it hold you back.

Thank you sticking with me, dear readers. Here’s to all of our baggage!

Despite the last two years of my life feeling a bit like a one-way ticket on the Hot Mess Express, I very much try to look on the positive side of things. Every year around my birthday my good friend Rachel asks me what she calls the “Birthday Question.” The question is simply: “What did it take you (insert your new age here) amount of years to learn?” Now, granted this time of year isn’t anywhere near my birthday, but I thought I would apply the same kind of thinking when looking back at this last year. This year was one full of milestones for me, and it took a little bit of reflection to realize that, though less than stellar things might happen in the course of your life, it is still a good life. If you need a sign from the universe that this is true, there is one in the Aria Resort in Las Vegas. I conveniently found it on my 30th birthday. And on, that note, I’m going to tell some of the things I learned in 2017:

I’ve learned how to do Las Vegas. Now, I know you’re probably thinking: “Eva, what’s there to ‘do’? You’re there at least once a year already.” Nay nay, there are certain tricks you can employ to seriously maximize your Vegas experience. Ladies, use that social media! Put as many ridiculous Vegas-related hashtags in your comments as you can think of. Save promoters phone numbers and build a rapport. Get a group of your best girlfriends and get yourself out there! Adventures await. Just make sure you take a few naps, stock up on the Red Bull, and wear your most comfortable heels. You too can “hack” Vegas if you’re determined enough.

You want the thing? Do the thing. Yes, this is a primitive way of putting it. Only you have the power to change things and do things for yourself. You want to be the go-getter? Go get things, just by taking those first steps. Sure, you might think “Dear God, what am I doing?” half the time, but you’re really creating the life that you want and deserve for yourself.

On a lighter note: I now know that I have the uncanny ability to hold two drinks in the same hand. This is especially convenient when trying to take selfies or photos of whatever event you’re at.

Order the thing you want. Order what you really want, and don’t regret it. Screw it. Get the lobster topped with lobster and a cocktail and dessert. This is a case in which the term “Yolo” might actually be appropriate.

Not everyone deserves an explanation or a reaction. Sometimes, the best thing to say is nothing at all. As someone who frequently posts her innermost thoughts on the internet, this has been a hard one for me. Sometimes people who disturb your peace just aren’t worth it. You can’t demand peace of mind from other people; you might not ever understand why they do what they do. You just have to figure it out for yourself and move forward.

Tell the people you love that you love them. Yes, it can be scary. Sometimes it doesn’t feel very good, even though it should. Do it anyway. Everyone is worthy of loving and being loved. It doesn’t have to be a quid pro quo thing. Sometimes loving someone doesn’t work out the way you want it to, sometimes it’s not enough. Tell them anyway. Don’t beat yourself up for being vulnerable. You’re a better person for it. Because, as Vladimir Nabokov so elegantly put it, we’re all just “rust and stardust” in the end. Nothing is ever guaranteed.

First of all, I want to thank everyone who took the time out from their days to read my previous posts. I’m still seriously touched that so many people read the general nonsense that comes out of my brain. All 360+ posts of general nonsense…you are my people, and I love you.

As I’ve said before here on Watch Me Juggle, things don’t always go the way you planned.

{Beyoncé’s “Sorry” has become a bit of an anthem of mine.}

When you’re little, saying your sorry tends to be one of life’s hard-learned lessons. If you wrong someone, bump into them, do anything even remotely impolite, you say “sorry,” and move on. You took her cookie? Say you’re sorry. You accidentally tripped her during jump rope? Say you’re sorry. But what happens when “sorry” become the default? When it feels more like a reflexive obligation, than any kind of genuine recognition of wrongdoing?

I’ll admit that as I’ve gotten older, I’ve been fighting the impulse to apologize for my behavior or things that have happened to me in life. ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ have somehow become mushed together into the same sentiment. A grown man shoulder-checked me on my commute the other day and I found myself apologizing…for him? Excusing myself for being so large and so much in his way? He was conveniently mute the whole time. It was all very odd. And it’s in moments like this that I think— why do we continuously apologize for other people, or for simply just being ourselves?

I’ve written a blog about being unabashedly myself before, “Sorry Not Sorry.” I’ll be the first one to tell you that I am by no means perfect, heck, (I’ve documented enough embarrassing and strange moments in my life on here for anyone to figure that out) but I feel like I also have the tendency to routinely apologize for myself more than is necessary.

While I’m more spiritual than religious, I’m a huge believer in karma, that what you put out in the universe always comes around to you in another form. Regardless of how others treat you, it’s your job to be kind and graceful— to keep your chin up no matter how badly some things have gone. Some people might think that that means being a pushover, but I think that there’s an incredible amount of power in being able to fully own your behavior. And to me, there’s nothing worse than feeling like “Oh, I shouldn’t have said/done that,” because, while you can’t control the other people in your life, you can control yourself. Hold yourself to your own high standards. There are always going to be unfortunate people out there, and how they treat you should never be taken as a reflection on you. Of course, this is easier said than done. And I am as far away as anyone from having the answers. But I’m starting here…

No, I’m not a total grinch I swear, maybe just a little messed up, as he says. Hear me out, dear readers.

The holidays are hard. They are. Any grown adult who denies this is probably hiding from something in a giant pile of tinsel somewhere watching “The Christmas Prince” 18 days in a row. Maybe someone hurt you, maybe you’re missing all the people who can’t be with you this season, or maybe you don’t have a family to spend the holidays with. Even if you have all your idealistic ducks in a row, maybe you’re just feeling the pressure to make the holidays special for everyone around you. A good friend of simply said the other day that the holidays are hard because “this is the time where you are supposed to be happy.” The whole damn commerce-driven world demands it of you. Wear the sparkles! Buy the people you love presents! Wish everyone “Happy Holidays,” it’s nice! SMILE!

When you work in a customer-facing field (to put it lightly) like I do, it’s imperative you screw that smile on tight every morning. I make holiday small talk with people, but often wonder what’s really going on with everyone else. Do they feel the same way about the holidays as I do? While we’re busy trading cookie recipes, did they lose someone or something they cared about? While we’re playing the “Most Wonderful Time of the Year” on repeat, who are we trying to convince? We’re here covering things with Christmas lights and pretending that everything is merry and bright and whatnot. Everyone gets swept up in the holiday momentum, and it’s easy enough to blend in with the crowd. As much as the holidays are a reminder of the good things in life, like spending time with friends and family, giving to other people; the not-so-good things often loom on the other side. January is, of course, the magical time where everyone gets their sh**t in order, right? Almost no one I know enjoys January, but we’ll all cross that bridge when we come to it.

All ranting aside, the thing I’ve come to realize is that, no matter where you are in life, you have to A: take a deep breath, and then B: make the holidays your own. Don’t let other people’s expectations ruin what should be a nice time, regardless of your circumstances. Take the focus off of yourself and do something nice for the people you care about. Give yourself little projects, like decorating the house, baking something delicious, or volunteering. Aside from baking and the occasional festive cocktail, I’ve really been enjoying my tradition of making original and slightly inappropriate Christmas cards. (This one won the year for me. Current life status: Emily.) Plenty of people can relate to feeling like the holidays aren’t for them. Each year I make my cards on Shutterfly, I struggle with finding designs that don’t insist on making my last name a plural or forcing me to introduce a whole group of people. What am I supposed to do with this?! “Happy holidays from Eva, her shoes, her glass of Zinfandel, and this Christmas tree”? Well… that’s actually what I do, so that’s sort of a bad example.

I’ve reached the point in my life where the holidays have become a time where I get to celebrate the way that I want, if it’s laughing at myself or just hibernating with a glass of wine and my little Christmas tree. Don’t let anyone make you feel badly about how you…well, do you.

No, I haven’t gotten any better at juggling my life, thank you for asking. Perhaps quite the opposite, but life does carry on as usual in it’s fascinating chaos. Over the many, many months that have passed, I was struck with the inability to write. The dreaded Writer’s Block. Actually, scratch that. I kept writing. My Gmail inbox is full of weird drafts of half-finished thoughts all entitled “(no subject).” Don’t worry, dear reader, all these embarrassing musings will all see the light of day soon. One of my favorite artists, Emily McDowell, has an accurate depiction of what the creative process looks like:

Endless loops of “I have no ideas, and I hate everything” coupled with the ever-present “you’re totally ridiculous and no one wants to hear what you have to say.” But, these things happen, and that’s ok.

Sometimes you have to be ok with not being ok and just sit in that in a while, as un-fun as it is. For me, the hardest thing is simply having to admit when things aren’t going well. This is especially hard in this social media, oversharing, humble-bragging age when everyone is up to their eyeballs in everyone else’s business. Everyone is just trying to market themselves in a way that looks good to everyone else, and no one puts anything real out there. A good friend of mine recently told me that she thinks that I just might be too good at being “fine.” When people ask me how my day is going, sometimes they get a “It’s goooooood” with an odd, lilting intonation. The word “good” should never be squeezed out of you. If I do this to you, what it really means is “OMG, I’m keeping it together. I’m here and I have clothes on, so it can’t be that bad, right? Except my brain is telling me that the walls are on fire and the ceiling is on fire, and everything’s on fire because I’m in hell, but that’s fine.” Watch closely and my face will usually give this away. Not writing was another way to not deal with the scary things in life. Being alone with my thoughts was the last thing I wanted to do this year, and putting them down in words for strangers on the internet to see was an even more daunting task.

I’m 30 years old now and I don’t think I have any of the answers I magically should by now. (It’s magic, right? That’s how it works?) I don’t think my childhood self could even comprehend that one day I would actually turn 30, so at least I don’t have those large, whimsical expectations to live up to. But, the things I can control, I do. This year, I checked many, many things off of my “things to do in life” list. I celebrated my 30th birthday with the most ridiculous parties in Las Vegas. I went to Mexico on vacation, I invested in a beautiful piece of artwork, went to the gym a hell of a lot more, met some wonderful new people, and said ‘yes’ to doing so many new things. I’m still navigating life just the same as any of the rest of us, but I’m trying to do so with a little style and strength. This blog is one of the ways I like to do that. And like I always say…

She’s back, ladies and gentlemen! I’m sure you all can commiserate with how hectic the holidays can be sometimes. I’m sure you’ve all also had that feeling where things get so hectic, that, rather than doing anything productive, you end up sitting around your house doing absolutely nothing. This is the obvious solution, yes? I’ve certainly experienced this phenomenon to a degree lately, and find that sometimes the best way to cope with the “Holiday Hangover” is to give into the urge to do laze about and do nothing. When I wasn’t working, or at some sort of holiday party, I was napping. My coworkers once found me curled up in a ball, under a makeup table between shows, asleep. While this isn’t the most productive way to deal with stress, I found that all the extra sleep did prevent me from getting the plague, and also slowed me down enough that I wasn’t overbooking my schedule as I so often like to do.

The 2016 holiday season passed me by in a sort of blur. I did manage to get myself together enough to send out ridiculous Christmas cards (as is tradition), which spurred an impromptu photo shoot in the hallway of my building, complete with my Christmas tree and…(wait for it)…my new Louboutins! Sure, my house was a complete mess of discarded shoes, shopping bags, and half-drunk bottles of wine, but I’d like to think that I managed to adult my way through life just fine for the last few weeks.

Some step-and-repeat action at the annual Tree Lot Party.

All of my people in one place at Smuin’s “Christmas Ballet.”

Santa brought me a Christmas Eve sweetheart!

Even though I’ve felt utterly unproductive these past few days, I’ve been unendingly grateful to the people who have stuck by me through a rather rough holiday season. Let’s face it, it’s not all it’s always cracked up to be, but it’s the people who support and encourage you in life that make it all worthwhile. Just a kind word or simple conversation can make all the difference in a person’s day. (It certainly has for me!) So happy (belated) holidays! I’m still not done being festive here in Watch Me Juggle-land, and yes, I do still have my Christmas tree up. Here’s to the next year! May there be many more adventures.

Today, I wanted to write about a little phenomenon I’ve encountered. I’m not sure if I’m entirely abnormal, but I find that, having grown up multilingual, I no longer entirely trust myself to switch from language to language accurately. They all seem to blend together, and I constantly want to substitute one language with another in the same sentence. Even when I reach a certain level of comfort, I second guess myself. During my last trip to Austria, I discovered a bit of a solution.

You see, I just need a few drinks and then my German comes out just fine. In moments of uncertainty, I don’t have a problem asking for help if there’s a word I can’t remember or simply don’t know. The not knowing is always inevitable. I mean, when you’re learning a language, who the hell covers things like “Help! The fuse blew in the basement”?

Sans drinks, I have a crippling fear of speaking to people like a cave woman, and by this I mean using improper grammar or inadvertently offending someone. The fully sober me will get ready to concoct a sentence, and then the voice in my head yells “THAT’S NOT GRAMMATICALLY CORRECT! Everyone in this country thinks you’re an idiot!” So I’m forced to limit my speech to disjointed sentences or one word answers. “Yes. The food is delicious. No, I’m not at all cold.” It’s quite telling that the one phrase I find myself repeating over and over in a variety of languages is “No, really, I’m full.” This can probably be attributed to the fact that I come from a group ofuniversally stocky people, who I’m sure secretly harbor the thought that I’m a strange human twig who’s slowly and deliberately starving themselves into nothing. No matter how much food I shovel in, they insist I need to eat more. On my European side of the family this philosophy unfortunately (or fortunately) also applies to alcohol. I can’t honestly think of another family where “You have to finish the whole bottle!” Is an acceptable thing to say to one person…on a Tuesday evening. There’s also half a cake you’re going to have to put away if you want to make it out alive. Try not to fall down on your way out to the car. Given that there are no streetlights and a lot of ditches you can fall into, this makes this normal task about 800 times trickier.

One evening, after describing what an avocado was to my grandmother for a short period of time, I finally figured out that the German word for avocado was “avocado,” but with a German accent. I’m considering the 10 minutes of my life that I spent performing some sort of weird German charades a total waste. I wrangled all of my vocabulary together to attempt to relay the message: “No, it’s not a fruit, it the other thing… It’s soft, and green, and has a big seed thing in the middle. They put it in sushi!!” (Because sushi is a great reference point for people who have lived in the Austrian countryside their whole lives and still slaughter pigs in their yard.) This was all followed by me making the shape of an avocado repeatedly in the air, like it was going to help. Granted when you’re have two beers and fours glasses of wine in you, it seems really effective.

Despite having spoken it for the better part of my life, I still find that German is not an easy language. But, sometimes, things are a lot simpler than they seem. A bit of liquid courage can help and not being afraid to fail is always a good start.

As many of you know (or might have guessed from my last post), I visited my family in Austria just a few weeks ago. My last trip was in spring of 2013, and was a bit of a whirlwind involving a van full of friends and a trek across the country. Comparatively, this most recent trip was quite a bit more laid-back, with the largest thing on the agenda being my grandmother’s 80th birthday at one of the many the local Buschenshanks, or wine taverns. The party lasted until 1am, complete with a ton of food, dancing, and live music courtesy of my great uncle Franz and his friend Rudy.

My family’s hometown is what one might refer to as rural. It’s not out of the ordinary for people to have livestock on their property, and unpaved roads are somewhat commonplace. Cellphone service can be quite spotty, as it’s so close to the Hungarian border that you could easily stumble across it without realizing. Güssing, a relatively small town of approximately 250 households, is honestly quite hard to find on a map. But, like most of Europe, it boasts a rich history, as is evident by the ruins of the 13th century castle that overlook the town. For me, it’s always been a place to unplug and indulge in some nostalgia. I ate my favorite foods and read half a dozen books in my grandmother’s kitchen. I know that change is guaranteed each visit, as my trips have gotten so few and far between as I’ve gotten older.

Yes, they wore lederhosen. It’s almost a requirement when playing that much polka music.

I try to appreciate Güssing for what it is. It’s especially quiet and charming during the winter months, when you can find Christmas markets in just about every town in the neighboring region. While we may have high-speed internet here in the Bay Area, they have warm mugs of Glühwein and roasted chestnuts on every corner, which is a fair trade-off, in my humble opinion. It’s very much a place to reset, indulge a bit, and contemplate life(or in my case, attempt to revive some very rusty German…more on this later). It may not be the most glamorous or exotic of vacations, but it’s special nonetheless.

Watch Me Juggle is back in the lovely state of California once again. As much as I enjoy my world travels, I’m happy to be back in the land of unending wifi and to-go cups of coffee. Before I essentially force all of you to look at my vacation photos, I thought I would share some of the utter nonsense that crossed my mind during my travels. While I knew before now that jet-lag existed, I never remembered experiencing it with such…intensity. Coupled with an abrupt break from an intense work schedule and the general unpredictability of air travel, it was like someone had turned the filter off of my ability to think rationally.

Take my foray through airport security for instance. As I stepped out of the X-ray machine and moved to put my jacket back on, a TSA agent took me aside. I had had blood drawn earlier that day, and the band-aid was still firmly plastered to my arm. It was at this point the agent asked to see my bandaid. I tentatively stuck out my arm, wondering what could have aroused her suspicion so much that my band-aid was questionable. I was tempted to pull it off and hand it to her, but something about that felt socially unacceptable. While I’m on the topic of socially unacceptable behavior, a friend of mine recently informed me that people are statistically more apt to cry on planes. I’m grateful that she shared this with me, because about two hours into my flight, I found myself having the following inner-dialogue:

Brain: This movie has feelings. Cry. Now.

Me:No brain. I’m in public, and on a plane. This is not only socially unacceptable, but makes everyone, including me, uncomfortable.

Brain:Cry now.

Me: It’s “Finding Dory” for God’s sake. Seriously?! A children’s movie about a fish— they don’t even have facial expressions! What are we crying about?!

Luckily, my brain compromised, and instead allowed me to pretend I had mascara in my eyes for 15 minutes. I’ve decided that jet lag is a bit like being drunk. Except it’s not at all fun, and you have to be out in public with your grandma whilst pretending you know what’s going on around you. Let’s not forget constantly feeling like you can’t blink and might fall over.

I tried to force myself to adapt to the time zone as much as possible. I stayed up late and had after dinner drinks in an effort to coax myself to sleep. Instead, I found myself wide awake, either reading or typing nonsense on my phone in the middle of the night. I’m just glad I saved enough of these thoughts so I could share the bizarre nonsense that is me at 1am. I hope you find them as strangely amusing as I did. So, without further ado, I give you thoughts from my jet-lagged brain:

I can only have one arm above my covers when sleeping. Not two. Two and the monsters will get me. None, and I will suffocate. I’m serious. It’s science…or something.

When on family vacations, always sleep in a room with a door that locks. Lest you wake up with your grandmother sitting on the end of your bed asking you what you would like for breakfast or someone’s hand in your face (my mother recently pulled this and scared the living daylights out of me). When there someone who isn’t you, in your space. They can be one of two things: an intruder or a well-meaning intruder checking to see if you’re still breathing. Either way, this is not reassuring in any sense. Boundaries people. We have them.

When I die, I want to be cremated and have my ashes mixed with biodegradable glitter (the kind they make out of seaweed). It would be a gorgeous and environmentally friendly sendoff. There also needs to be drinks.

European churches are really intense. Sure, there’s gold and stuff, but where did all the decorative skulls come from? It’s good that we teach kids about death, but if I had been exposed to graphically crucified Jesus so much as a child I would have been slightly traumatized. Also, with all this intensity I half expect the “Shame!” lady from “Game of Thrones” to come after me at any moment.

Do people’s’ ribcages move around? For example, does one side ever get stuck overlapping on the other? Because I feel like mine does, which would explain the awkward uneven sticking out it tends to do. I know there’s a lot of cartilage in there, but it’s level of pliability is questionable. It has a job that needs doing.

And, lastly:

What if the Internet breaks and all my writing disappears? Must check on writing.Must print out hundreds of pages of nonsense too, just in case.